


cruel summer

by lesbiantommyinnit



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Red White and Royal Blue AU, Rivals to Lovers, dreamnotfound, implied karlnap, probably, subtle skephalo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29391246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbiantommyinnit/pseuds/lesbiantommyinnit
Summary: The President's Son and a Prince of England have always had a rivalry. After a minor fight turns into something much bigger, the two are forced to reconcile and play nice for the sake of both of their countries.a couple things:  a) this is a red white and royal blue au, the storyline is not mine, b) i am my own editor and i am not the best author so please be gentle with me and c) please do not share this with the ccs
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	cruel summer

**Author's Note:**

> here we fucking go! 
> 
> reminder not to share this with any ccs

The floor of my room has always been constant, no matter my location. Nothing, except tat, has stayed the same. Hours spent studying complicated graphs my brain has trouble processing. Hours spent alone with my guitar, thinking and feeling and spewing out words nobody would ever bother to listen to. Hours spent with music coming from my record player, the beat grounding me as I lie on my back and stare holes into my ceiling. Keeping me out of my own head. It’s sort of… sacred in a way. Only the people I care about most are allowed to see a certain side of me. A certain side that most often manifests on the carpet of my bedroom.

Usually, when I find myself on my floor, I’m overwhelmed with emotion. But today is a little bit different. Instead of being completely zoned out, ignoring responsibilities in favor of getting lost in my own head, Sapnap and Drista sit in the room with me. They’re next to each other, pouring over some trashy magazine. For 14, Drista was smart. She excelled in school and she made friends. She was America's perfect First Daughter, living a picture perfect life. Sapnap, on the other hand, as the grandson of the Vice President, is a being fueled by pure chaos. The media loves to pry into his life but he just ignores them and continues living. It’s honorable in a way, the fact that he doesn’t even take a moment to think about how the press might affect his life.  
For me, it's a different story. Every aspect of my life is controlled. From what I order at a restaurant to what I’m allowed to say in public. Every little thing. I live life according to the script that my mother’s team wants me to follow. Before my mother ran for President, I was what some would describe as a “troubled kid”. I skipped school, got detention and didn’t go to college. So, to the press I’m the perfect candidate to be picked apart. Except I cleaned up my own act, not because of my mother’s campaign but because I wanted to. I got myself a job coding at a respectable company and I took care of my sister while she was too busy campaigning to do it herself. I can never find it in me to be mad about that though, the fact that she left me alone to take care of a 10 year old at barely 18. It helped me prove to both myself and the press that I’m worthy of my status.

“Are you ready for this weekend?” Drista asks me, pulling me out of my own brain.

“This weekend...?” I ask, my head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.

“The royal wedding?” Sapnap tells me, his voice exasperated, “Prince William and Princess Niki?”

“Oh. That's this weekend?” I groan, rubbing my hand across my face.

“Clay, we fly out tomorrow,” Drista reminds me, just as exasperated as Sapnap.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm all packed and shit. it just slipped my mind.”

“Maybe it has something to do with the fact that its the first time since last year that you’ll be seeing your nemesis...” Sapnap says, his tone sing-songy as he smirks.

“He’s not my nemesis, Pandas,” I say, chuckling at the offended noise Sapnap makes at the joking nickname, “Calling him my nemesis implies that we’re on the same level. Just because we have similar positions in life does not mean we’re at all similar.” My lips twitch into a slight frown while Drista and Sapnap laugh at me.

“Well, nemesis or not, you still have to see him tomorrow. And please try not to fuck up his brother’s wedding. I'm pretty sure mom would commit filicide,” Drista moves from her position on her back, legs propped up on my bed, and scoots over to my vinyl collection.

“Oooh, when did Drista learn big words?” I ask, mocking her as I open some dumb game on my phone. She snorts and flips me off.

“Pick something good,” Sapnap tells her offhanded before tossing the magazine aside and immersing himself in something on his phone. In the end, Drista places the fine line record on the player, the intro to golden playing as we sit on the floor in comfortable silence, content just to listen to harry styles and busy ourselves with our phones. the royal wedding looms over us but as long as we’re on my bedroom floor, nothing changes except for the songs.

The constant flashing of cameras burn my eyes as I step into the massive cathedral. Being taller than almost everyone in the room gives me the advantage of being able to peer over heads. I vaguely recognize a couple people, royal family members or celebrities or political figures. My eyes flit from face to face, exchanging waves or nods occasionally, before finally landing on the royal siblings. The youngest princes, Thomas and his twin Toby, stand next to each other, making quiet conversation while their older brother (Prince Technoblade) stands behind them in silence, a bored expression on his face. Ours eyes meet and he smirks a little, nudging the shorter figure next to him. I pointedly do not look down.

“This place is fucking huge...” Sapnap mutters, loud enough that only Drista and I could hear him.

“It's insane how they can even afford something like this. They literally spent like... 70k on the fucking cake” Drista half whispers, quiet enough to carry on the conversation and hide the swearing from our mother.

“They're rich and royalty. They can do whatever they want,” I respond, sweeping my eyes over the crowd again. My attempt at continuing to take in the audience is cut short by the beginning of an organ playing, the hushed whispers around the room immediately falling silent. Everyone stands and turns to watch Prince William begin his trek down the aisle, holding the arm of his grandfather, King Schlatt. Once he reaches the altar, where his brothers stand, a short woman wearing a beautifully crafted gown begins to practically float down the aisle. Princess Niki is arm and arm with her new father-in-law, Prince Philza. She looked like the epitome of her title. Once we were instructed to be seated again, I found myself locking eyes with a familiar Prince by mistake. George, the second oldest royal sibling. From the moment I first entered the spotlight as the eldest child of the first female presidential nominee, I was compared to him. Me, Drista and Sapnap were almost constantly compared to the royal family, parallels being drawn from the moment we first were captured by the press. He widens his eyes slightly, barely moving his head to the side as a mocking gesture, a smirk on his face. Rolling my eyes at him visibly, I fix my gaze on the ceremony. The entire family, apart from the King, looks elated.

The ceremony moves slowly, but beautifully. And then suddenly I’m seated in a ballroom in the Palace, holding a flute of champagne while Drista and Sapnap shit talk next to me. The newly-weds spin on the dance floor while the rest of the royal family sits at the front of the ballroom, talking quietly. Drista’s observation about the cake was, in fact, correct. It was 9 tiers of white frosting and intricate decoration and looked like it cost more than all three of our outfits combined.  
“This is absolutely insane,” Drista says under her breath. Her eyes sparkle with awe as she takes in the scenery, holding a cup of water instead of alcohol. She had grumbled and complained about not getting champagne but our mother had insisted. Once she’d gone to talk to some minster, I’d snuck her a couple sips of mine.

“Yeah… you really were not exaggerating when you said the cake was expensive. Look at that thing,” Sapnap practically shouts before immediately quieting his tone, “It’s, like, how much money do they even have if they can spend this much on a wedding?”

“I’m honestly not sure I want to know,” I murmur, taking another sip from my glass. I’m not nearly drunk enough to deal with this night, so I find myself walking over to the champagne fountain to get another glass.

“Ah,” A familiar voice says behind me as I reach for a glass, “I was wondering if I was going to have the pleasure.”

“George,” I grind out, my grasp on the glass tight.

“Shouldn’t you, maybe, slow down a little bit. Isn’t that one too many glasses?” George asks, a smirk.

“Fuck off, this is only my second,” I half shout, downing the glass before turning to fully face him. We’re both dwarfed by the cake as we stare, our eyes locked and filled with fire. I can’t help but take him in. His stupid skin, porcelin and perfect, lacking in any flaws. Everything about him is fucking stupid and perfect.

“Well, considering the fact that you are a lightweight… I think two is plenty,” George’s tone is light and humourless as he inspects his glass

“Fuck you. You barely even know me. Who are you to tell me when to stop drinking,” my voice full of rage as I down another glass. His gaze turns from cold to concerned to humor in a split second as he laughs, the sound shaking his shoulders in a captivating way.

“Well,” He laughs, pushing past me, “I’ll leave you too it, then.”

The next events happened within the click of a camera. I grabbed his arm, he shoved me off and sent me sprawling into the cake. In a desperate attempt to not ruin a wedding, I grabbed at his tie. Ultimately, we both ended up flat on our backs with cake covering the ground around us and our suits

“Fucking hell,” George whispers, his tone petrified.

**Author's Note:**

> please go and listen to lover by taylor swift, its a huge inspo for this fic
> 
> twitter: https://twitter.com/lesbiantommyint?s=20


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